


In Triplicate

by keelywolfe



Series: by any other name [55]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Angst, Arguing, Domestic, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prejudice Against Monsters (Undertale), Spicyhoney - Freeform, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale), Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Undertale Monsters on the Surface, hints of kustard, papcest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 06:31:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17862137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: Edge understands about control, or the lack thereof. In three conversations.





	In Triplicate

* * *

Edge understood the importance of control. It was a lesson he’d learned barely out of childhood with his first LV burning in his soul like a fiery coal.

He’d seen what a lack of it could do to a Monster, the slavering, mindless, LV hungry creatures who lived on the distant outskirts of his Snowdin. Once a Monster reached that point it was considered a form of Mercy to let them dust, usually in a trap to keep their LV from affecting another.

With years of practice behind him, Edge’s will was iron and while some might consider him imposing or distant, it was all a matter of control. But today was testing his will. 

Despite working long hours, he and Janice were still behind in their work, too much was happening, too many things piling up and up, towering haphazardly on their proverbial plate. His temper was on a short fuse, he was snapping too easily, sharp words forming quickly and with force.

Intellectually, he knew this. Far back in the recesses of his mind where warning bells were jangling away. But alarms only worked when they weren’t ignored in favor of paperwork. 

A knock on his door interrupted his concentration and before he could even decide whether to let them in, the door swung open. His snarl of irritation died away when Asgore entered the room, his bulk filling Edge’s office in a way few others could manage. None of the chairs would fit him comfortably but he never seemed to mind standing.

“Howdy,” Asgore said, his smile easy and serene. “I was hoping you had a moment to talk.”

It sounded like a question but Edge’s experience with both Monarchy and leaders had taught him that there was only one answer to those types of questions. Asgore’s demeanor was deceptive, a lure into security, and people who worked with him learned quickly the determination that lay beneath it. He and Edge were not specifically friends but if nothing else, Edge respected what lengths Asgore went to for his people.

“Of course,” Edge told him crisply, pushing aside his latest report and giving Asgore his full attention.

“Working hard, I see,” Asgore nodded at his desk, “But you always are. To be honest, the Embassy depends on your work ethic a great deal, you and your secretary--”

“My assistant,” Edge interrupted coolly. “Janice has the same clearance and does similar work to some managers in other departments.” He ignored the fact that six months ago, he would have called her a secretary as well and that the ink was barely dry on paperwork to change that on her employment profile.

Asgore only nodded, still smiling, “As you say, your assistant. We depend on you both, from the legal department to PR. All the work you do is extremely important to us. Which is why I’m sending you home.”

“What?” Edge stared at him, uncomprehending. 

“I’m sending you home,” Asgore repeated, and his serenity was lined with steel. “You’re taking the rest of the week off.”

“I…what?” Edge sputtered. He gestured at his desk, the piles of paperwork and folders scattered on top of it. “I can’t possibly…do you know how much work I need to do, I can’t just leave, I—”

“You can and you will,” Asgore told him. He was unmoved at Edge’s protest or the clutter of his desk. “I’ll give you an hour to finish what you’re doing and delegate out anything that cannot wait. In the meantime, I expect that in that hour, I won’t hear about any other interns that you brought to tears?”

“Is that what this is about? That little fool should appreciate that’s all I said to him, I—”

“It is not what this is all about,” Asgore interrupted him, gently implacable. “You’ve had a great deal happen the past few months, both personally and professionally, you could use a few days to yourself to get back into a suitable frame of mind.”

“Upsetting one intern does not mean there is anything wrong with my frame of mind!” Edge snarled. But he glanced away first when Asgore only looked at him, a certain understanding and sadness in his eyes. Of all the Monsters here, Asgore was one of the few with LV himself, and he understood far more than Edge would have preferred. He sighed, glaring uselessly at his desk. “Fine. I’ll take the rest of the week.”

“Wonderful!” Asgore said cheerfully. “Janice will still be here working, although I’ve warned her that she’s only allowed to stay for her normal shift and overtime is strictly forbidden. As your assistant, I’m quite sure she can handle things, without you.”

“I’m sure,” Edge said, unable to hide his grumpiness. Having Janice here would keep him from doing any work in secret, which he suspected was Asgore’s plan all along. 

“Enjoy your time off!” Asgore called as he strode back out the door, leaving Edge with his one hour to decide which reports could wait without burning down the world.

* * *

Stretch was home when Edge walked in, fully two hours before his normal time and about six from when he’d been coming in the past week. Asgore wasn’t wrong that he’d been working long hours; if he’d only asked, Edge could have simply cut back. 

Instead, he had a most of a week to sit around his home and contemplate all the work he could be doing.

How very relaxing. 

The fact that his husband was not at all surprised to see him meant that he’d either been warned, or worse, had a hand in arranging this. 

Edge only nodded at his greeting and kept walking into the kitchen, rummaging through the refrigerator for ingredients. He almost didn’t care what he made, but he needed to make something. Cooking was usually a good way to get a handle on things, the focus and precision required was an excellent distraction and Edge would be able to lose himself in it until the simmering in his soul eased. 

Or he would have, if the kitchen door hadn’t swung open directly behind him. “hey, before you get going on that, i was thinking—”

Stretch trailed off when Edge didn’t stop, pulling out his cutting board and setting his gathered vegetables around it. Stir fry was a possibility, it would take a decent amount of time and mindless focus. 

Focus that splintered when Stretch draped himself heavily against Edge’s back, his arms dangling over Edge’s shoulders. “babe, listen for a sec.”

“Not now,” Edge shrugged, drawing away physically when Stretch resisted. The freshly washed vegetables surrounding his cutting board were all awaiting their fate with the chef’s knife and he selected a carrot, neatly julienning it to matchstick size pieces.

Stretch drew away but only went as far as the table, slouching down into a chair. 

“do you really need to do that right now?” Stretch said with a touch of irritation that grated crossways over Edge’s own, raking against his already raw nerves. “can’t we just have leftovers or something tonight?”

“I’ve already started,” Edge said curtly. Bell pepper joined the carrots in a neat pile of their own and had Stretch known Asgore had planned this? Had he helped? Stretch didn’t like Asgore and made no secret of it, but he wasn’t above using what means he had to get the results he wanted. “At this point I may as well finish.”

“you wouldn’t have started if you’d listened to me,” Stretch snapped, “and those are fucking vegetables. i’m a shitty cook but even i know you can stick those in the fucking fridge for twenty-four hours without the nutrients leaking out. use the microwave for once, come out here with me for a while and fucking relax!”

“I don’t want to use the microwave,” Edge ground out. Jicama was next, the peel falling beneath his knife in one long ribbon. “I want to finish this.”

Stretch stood up, his chair screeching irritatingly on the floor and probably leaving a careless mark, and all Edge wanted was quiet, he wanted to finish this, he wanted the heat in his soul to settle— 

“if you would come sit down for five fucking minutes and quit stressing out about everything, you might get to relax for once. you need to—” Stretch started and the fragile hold Edge had on his temper snapped.

“What I need is for you to get the fuck out of my kitchen,” Edge shouted, slamming down his knife, “and let me do this! I don’t need you floundering around in my way and if I wanted your opinion on my stress, I would ask! GET OUT!”

It worked, in a way. Stretch only looked at him, his eye lights shrunken to pinpricks. Without another word, he shortcutted out and Edge was alone. 

One deep breath, another, and Edge picked up the knife again. He worked in silence, slicing the vegetables quickly at first. Slower as time dragged on, a trickle of coldness slipping through his anger, a faint prickle of regret that widened into an ache. 

He couldn’t shake Stretch’s hurt expression away from the back of his mind, his wounded silence, and he was worried, Edge knew that, he did know. Stretch knew him, he knew how to pry his way beneath the layers of Edge’s restraint better than anyone but Red, knew the places in his psyche that were sore, barely healed, and when he wanted, he knew exactly how to press them.

Carefully, Edge set his knife down again and looked down at the neat piles of cut vegetables, the greens and oranges and purples, and almost he gave in to the temptation to sweep it all off the counter to the floor, to scatter it to the ground. Instead, he breathed a long, slow moment of cooling breaths. Then he took out containers and carefully filled them, setting them all in the refrigerator, before leaving the kitchen. 

He went upstairs to their bedroom, walking through the empty room to the ensuite bathroom. Stripped off his clothes, distantly noticing with bitter humor that he’d gone into the kitchen and started working without even removing his suit jacket. Small wonder that Stretch had been concerned. Methodically, he hung up the suit, tossing the rest of his clothing in the hamper, and turned the cold water on full force.

Standing beneath the spray was like being pummeled with icicles but Edge stayed until his bones were numb and his teeth were chattering. Until control was starting to settle into his grasp again and his soul no longer burned in his chest like the beginnings of a fire. 

It was only when he was dry and dressed, in jeans and a soft pullover, that he went in search of his husband.

Stretch was not difficult to find. 

He was sitting in their backyard, smoking, the chickens pecking eagerly around his feet. It was a deceptively warm day, an anomaly in the middle of the ongoing winter and Stretch forwent a coat in favor of his normal hoodie, a newer one that Edge had given him for Gyftmas, with the body a deep black and only the sleeves and hood a bright, cheery orange. It looked good on him and Edge hadn’t even noticed he was wearing it earlier. 

The ashtray at his elbow was overflowing, a testament to how long he’d been sitting out there.

Edge stepped out through the sliding door and stood in front of him with his hands in his pockets. Quietly, he said, “I’m sorry.”

“it’s okay,” Stretch told him on a cloud of exhaled smoke. He kept his gaze on the chickens, nudging at Nugget gently with the toe of his shoe. She pecked at his trailing, untied laces and found them to be unpalatable, returning to search the ground.

“It’s not. It is not okay for me to shout at you.”

Stretch only shrugged. “maybe, but i’m not about to die from it, either. shit happens and i’m a big boy, i can take it.”

“Rus,” Edge sighed. “I’m trying to apologize.”

“you succeeded. the whole ‘i’m sorry’ thing was a pretty big clue. how about you let me accept it?” He finally looked at Edge and the side of his mouth tipped up in a faint smirk as he tamped out his cigarette. ”but hey, if you’re going to wallow in guilt, you can do it over here. c’mere.”

He caught Edge by the forearm and tugged, drawing Edge in until he almost fell into his lap. It felt a little awkward; they usually did this the reverse way, Edge was much heavier than Stretch, his bones denser. But he wasn’t about to say no after biting his head off.

It felt better to be close to him, soothing, his cool fingers wriggling into Edge sleeves at the wrists to touch the bareness of the bones above his gloves. 

Stretch nestled his face into Edge’s collarbone with a contented sound. “babe, it really is okay. you hardly ever snap, and i knew you were trying to wind down. i probably deserved it, should have left you alone to begin with.”

“You don’t deserve it—" Edge tried to protest. 

“well, then, i understand, how about that? i know you have lv, babe. i may not have any,” and there was thin humor in his voice, buried into Edge’s pullover. “not this time, anyway, but i can understand it. i remember.”

Edge exhaled shakily, his fingers digging in to the shoulders of Stretch’s hoodie almost unconsciously. Stretch hardly ever talked about the resets that way. He mentioned seeing his brother dying on the rarest of occasions, after a nightmare usually, but to speak of Temmie or the human…

He hadn’t meant to dredge any of this up with his unruly temper.

“Love—" Edge started, choking a bit on it. Stretch drew back to look at him in alarm.

“woah, hey, it’s okay,” Stretch said. His fingers smelled like cigarettes when he reached up and traced Edge’s cheek bone, unpleasant but familiar, and Edge caught hold of his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “i’m good. i’m not perfect, never pretended to be. i can be pretty fucked up sometimes and i can fuck up things even more. but you’re still here.”

“Of course I’m still here,” Edge said, absurdly stung. “I’ve always told you I would be. I’m not leaving you, not for anything.” Stretch’s warm smile soothed a bit of that hurt. 

“i know. you’ve told me that a lot.” He nuzzled a sloppy kiss against Edge’s teeth, drawing away before he could respond. “so i fuck up and i’m sorry. and you fuck up and you’re sorry. it’s okay. it’s gonna happen. don’t expect me to remember that every day,” Stretch said warningly. “i’ve got it for today, though, so we’re good. and i’m not the only one allowed to have a bad time. you’ve been pretty busy the last couple days. never a moments peace, eh?”

The invitation to talk was blatant. Edge shook his head, allowing himself a moment of weariness. He shifted to rest his chin on the top of Stretch’s skull, curling into him. “There are moments. Unfortunately, they serve as bridging points to the next catastrophe.”

“ain’t that the truth.” 

“Until Humans accept Monsters, I suspect we’ll only see more problems. But then we will also see more solutions. It will take time and hard work, but we’ve made a great deal of progress already.” Edge hesitated, then added, firmly, “I’m going to speak to Asgore about adding another person to my team. Janice and I simply can’t do everything on our own anymore.”

“sounds like a plan. that’s my baby, always positive.” Stretch twisted away, giving him a sweet smile before he leaned in and gave him a real kiss. Edge sighed into it, allowed Stretch to press his tongue slyly, coaxingly, between his teeth. While he’d been staying late at work every night, they’d done nothing but sleep when he was home. The temptation for more was overwhelming.

He wasn’t partial to the location and Edge wasn’t about to let things get out of hand in their damn backyard. He preferred a certain amount privacy for lovemaking, familial kitchens notwithstanding.

But even if one of their neighbors chose that moment to peek over the fence, they wouldn’t be able to see him slipping a hand between them, rubbing his thumb down the hard length that was starting to strain the front of Stretch's pants, a testament to a fact Edge already knew. That having the person you loved sitting on your lap was a difficult thing to ignore. 

The sound Stretch made, guttural and wanting, was an enticement and a goad as one. He was about to pull Stretch to his feet, it would only take a moment for them to shoo the chickens back into the coop, and their bedroom would still be filled with daylight, the better to indulge himself with a view of Stretch’s pretty bones. 

He’d just shifted to stand when his phone went off.

Pained, Edge closed his sockets and let his head drop to Stretch’s shoulder.

“you may as well look at it,” Stretch said with resigned amusement. “the way things are going lately, it could be important.” 

All too true. Edge slipped it out of his pocket and frowned to see the text was from Doggo, of all Monsters. He was one of the few who had chosen to remain in Old New Home when most of the others had left and he lived a few houses down from Red.

_might want to look in on your bro, lotta noise coming from his place_

His concern must have shown past his normally impassive expression because the amusement on Stretch’s face faded.

“what’s wrong?”

“I need to go,” Edge said slowly. “My brother is—"

He hesitated, unsure of what to say, of how much _not_ to say. His lack of explanation didn’t faze Stretch. 

“go,” Stretch said immediately. He nudged Edge off him when he didn’t stand. “go on, do what you need to for your bro. i can take care of myself for a little while.”

Involuntarily, Edge glanced down at Stretch’s lap. 

Stretch gave him a rueful smile and didn’t bother closing his knees. Not that it would have hidden anything. “i can take care of that on my own too, if needs be. go,” his smile faded to seriousness, “be careful?”

He should probably find that insulting but then, Stretch had met his brother. Edge nodded and stole a last, lingering kiss before he went inside to grab his keys and his coat. He took a moment when he sat down in his car to breathe, testing his control, his focus. 

Whatever issue his brother was having was going to take every bit of his hard-won peace, Edge was sure.

* * *

Despite the snow having mostly melted from Red’s driveway, Edge still parked on the street, walking up to the front door instead. He could hear the sound of clattering, breaking, shattering, even from here.

It was no surprise really that Doggo had chosen to text him rather than checking on Red himself. His brother didn’t have any LV but the fact that Monsters were still wary of him showed good sense in Edge’s opinion.

Red had never needed LV, even in Underfell.

Edge knocked briskly on the front door, loudly enough to be heard over the sounds of destruction. The sounds stopped and the silence within was more unnerving than the loud crashing.

He didn’t wait for his brother to answer. Instead, Edge tested the knob and found the door unlocked. He pushed open the door and stepped inside. 

Instantly, he was surrounded by dozens of jagged bones, each dripping with virulent magic that Edge already knew would drain his HP, the KR reacting to his LV. He stood perfectly still, waiting, and looked at his brother. 

Red was standing on the other side of the living room, his hand extended towards him, his left socket engulfed in vivid, glaring crimson. Edge couldn’t say for certain that Red was even aware it was him standing there. 

The moment dragged on, the magic dripping from the bones landing on the floor with a hiss, spattering before it disappeared. Slowly, Red’s hand fell limply to his side, the glare of his single eye light dimming as the other slowly relit. 

“hey, boss,” Red offered with a wide, feral grin. He staggered back a step, two, until he was leaning against the wall, then sagged down it until he was sitting, his legs sprawled out in front of him. 

The destruction was impressive, even for Red. It looked like every dish in the house was scattered around the room in pieces. The sofa frame had collapsed in on itself, the cushions torn remnants of stuffing and springs, and the coffee table was little more than splinters. What he assumed was the mangled remains of the television was in a corner, and there were papers scattered everywhere like feathers from a pillow, books plucked free from their shelves and their pages torn free.

Edge only gave the room a brutally unimpressed look before stalking over to his brother. He kicked away as much of the broken glass as he could before he sat next to him, his elbows resting on his updrawn knees.

There was at least one thing unbroken, held in Red’s free hand and more than half-empty.

“Give me that.” Edge took the bottle away and examined the label, shaking his head in disgust. “You couldn’t get single malt?”

Red laughed silently, tipping his head back to look at the ceiling. “nah, they lock that shit up.”

“That’s never stopped you before.” He took a long swig and grimaced, handing it back and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Edge didn’t usually drink alcohol; he preferred his thoughts to be clear, precise. It did not mean he couldn’t.

“What a pain in the ass you are,” Edge told him, thoughtfully, swallowing against the sharp burn of whiskey lingering on his tongue. 

Red only laughed again and took a long pull off the bottle. His voice was rougher than normal, hoarse, and Edge wondered if he’d been screaming. “yeah, a pain in everyone’s ass,” he didn’t quite hesitate, hardly more than a pause when he added, “you know i’m fucking sans.”

Edge didn’t say of course, but it was a near thing. “Yes.”

“yessss,” Red let the word hiss free like a snake and said nothing else. He tossed the bottle from hand to hand, not even flinching when he finally missed and it crashed to the floor, whiskey gurgling from the opening. He sighed, watery and thick, “don’t matter. we can’t both have liabilities.”

Edge didn’t ask him what happened, didn’t ask for an explanation. He only rescued the bottle before too much could be sacrificed to the carpet. “Yes, we can.”

“bro—“

“We can,” Edge insisted. He took another drink and coughed, “Besides it’s too late now. Breaking things off won’t change how you feel.” He had learned that from experience, may as well attempt to let his brother learn from his mistakes. 

“i can change how _he_ feels,” Red said darkly. He snatched the bottle back and took a long swig, draining nearly half the remaining liquor.

Edge wondered if that were as true as his brother hoped. “Quit hogging that.”

“don’t worry, i got another.”

They sat in silence until the bottle was empty and Edge set it down gently amidst the scattered broken glass on the carpet, a dead soldier. Another appeared almost from nowhere, a different brand name that tasted just as foul.

Red was leaning heavily against the wall, his sockets closed. The shadows under them were deep, entrenched stains of darkness. “how’s the honey bun doing, anyway.”

“He’s fine,” Edge said, automatically. It was a struggle to keep his words from slurring. But thinking about Stretch was always warming, for his soul and currently, other parts as well. “He took up knitting recently.”

Red made a soft, amused sound, an unexpected invitation to continue.

“I wouldn’t say he’s very good at it,” Edge said, contemplatively. He hadn’t seen much of his husband’s attempts but what he had seen involved a decent amount of swearing. “So far he’s started on a project three times that I’m aware of and unraveled all of them to start over.”

“perfectionist.”

“Only when he wants to be. Knitting seems to fall into the same category as his experiments.”

“not all of them,” Red said, slyly. Sometimes Edge thought his brother was incapable of ignoring a chance to needle him.

“Don’t,” Edge said, but there was no heat in it. “Have another drink.”

Obediently, for once, Red did. “what else is he up to?”

“Why are you asking?” Edge asked suspiciously. 

“talking about him makes you happy. so tell me more. just…keep talking.” His brother did not say please. It didn’t mean Edge couldn’t hear it.

Slowly, Edge did, telling his brother about Stretch’s different shenanigans, describing their trip to the Farmer’s Market and the dog shelter. Red only spoke to ask questions or add a pun, sharing the bottle back and forth as Edge talked until he was hoarse and kept talking, alcohol smoothing the normal sharpness between them. 

Red didn’t mention Sans again but that was all right. Edge never expected miracles.

-finis-


End file.
